In honor of the date I have this week, I thought I'd see what's blogging in the first date department.Dear Sugar offers us 10 First Date Questions, and while some of them read like, "What's your favorite color?" it's true that it never hurts to have a couple obvious conversation starters in your pocket. (At least you *hope* they're conversation starters!) And then there's this:

Eleven months ago, A and I started talking about living together, and this week we moved into our own little house. It’ s been four days, and let me tell you, as much as I thought I knew pretty much all of the picture about A…you, know, I didn’t.

The thing about being a Mother of the Bride who lives a couple of thousand miles away from the Bride to Be and the location of the upcoming wedding is that it causes you to spend a lot of time on the telephone. I hate the telephone (but love my iPhone.) Being a couple of thousand miles away also means that you spend a lot of time on the internet. I love the internet. Being a couple of thousand miles away also means you have to be willing to interupt your mother's surprise 65th birthday party weekend for a trip to David's Bridal.

There's a thought process that goes like this: Women dress for other women. Because men don't notice or care about your shoes. Or your earrings, or your outfit, or your purse, or your makeup, or your hair... Oh, no! You are doing it for yourself and your sisters. It's got nothing to do with him.I call total BS.

October is Domestic Violence Awareness Month in the US, and in my post about it, I cited some alarming statistics. While it is horrifying that an average of one in six American women will be abused in her lifetime, it is even more outrageous that this rate doubles for women around the globe: 33% of women and girls are beaten, coerced into sex, or otherwise abused, according to the United Nations Development Programme for Women (UNIFEM).

A long time ago I was a Deputy County Clerk for the County of Los Angeles. Part of my job was to issue marriage licenses. I think that was the best part of the job. There were specific tasks I had to perform, questions to ask and I watched as the couple swore or affirmed what they said was the truth. Sometimes I looked at a couple and thought “For the love of humanity dude, run, do not marry this chick!” or maybe “Hell, they don’t need a license, they are already married in their hearts.”

I spent most of today at my new house, directing the movers and then unpacking box after box of items: glasses, dishes, books, clothes—even someone who tries to continually pare down, as I do now, can accumulate more than she realizes. A was around for the first part of the morning, carrying boxes out from the car, then went to the office, leaving me with the fellas.

I think that over the past six years I've become more and more worried (paranoid?) that I'm not "pretty." Or at least, not conventionally pretty (in Hollywood read: 20s; thin; cute clothes, shoes & jewelry; perfectly dyed hair), and perhaps not perceived as "feminine." So when I started on eHarmony again, I put up four very "feminine" shots. And got an unexpected result.

I'd like to take back any mean thing I've said about being the recipient of unwanted advancements in a bar. Although these situations can be annoying -- especially if I'm talking to a friend at the time, or I'm trying my hardest NOT to look at that person (which should be a good clue) -- most of the people I encounter in regular bars are polite and unthreatening. This was not the case last weekend when I was hanging out in DC. Even though I live just a few miles outside of Washington, DC in northern VA (and work in the city five days a week), I rarely spend time there at night.

Six weeks ago, I plucked my iPhone from the charger at 7:30am and found a voicemail from my oldest daughter, Jenn. Oops, the ringer was off and it was still in the bedroom. Happens more often than you'd think. Who calls at 7am??? Lots of people. I listened to the voicemail and all I really heard was "Call me back, I really need to talk to you." I hate it when my kids say "I really need to talk to you." It's never good news. From the tone of her voice, I guessed two things - either she's pregnant or she's getting married...

 I was going to talk about the rather chilly racial climate in Toronto post-presidential election, but this piece caught my eye. Sex columnist Dan Savage opined over the demise of Proposition 8 in California -and guess who is accused of its downfall?

I mean, I'm on Facebook. Or whatever we're calling it these days. Yes, I gave in.And I'm totally addicted, and I love it. I mean, I'm still convinced that someday we're all going to regret the day we signed up, but until then, when we all realize we've made a horrible mistake, and Facebook somehow owns us, our bank accounts, and our souls, it's crazy fun, crazy useful, and crazy addictive.